Within the week, Storm's End fell.

Targaryen banners flew from every single keep in the Stormlands as they made their way to Storm's End, ships surrounding them in the bay and making it impossible for anyone to smuggle anything in– Ser Davos could do nothing, working with them now.

Three-thousand had been left to guard Dragonstone with some of their higher captains, the remaining nine-thousand of them filing towards Storm's End with no opposition waiting outside. They had the dragons with them, saddled but not ridden, flying overhead and screeching as they made their approach.

The men that'd remained behind to hold Storm's End in Stannis's name were skeptical. Brynhildr could see them on the ramparts, muttering to each other. They had Stannis, Selyse, Shireen, and Ser Davos held near the front of their lines, to show they were alive. Amidst the banners of Valkyries, Stormcrows, the Golden Company, and House Targaryen, so, too, did the burning stag burn behind Stannis to show he had not been slaughtered.

If it hadn't been more widely-known that the Golden Company had been hired to work under Daenerys, perhaps they would have stood a chance of infiltrating the castle by claiming the Golden Company was hired by Stannis to defend Storm's End– they could have taken it before word of Blackwater Bay even reached this side of the country. But news traveled fast, and it left them only to hold their positions and wait.

Brynhildr, Oberyn, and Daario had already formulated a plan for Ser Davos to smuggle them into Storm's End to force open the gates if need be. Ahead of their lines, they'd gathered catapults from the nearby keeps and rolled them forward. Brynhildr planned to bathe the large balls of straw and twine with pitch then light them on fire and lob them at the castle walls if no envoys were sent. Additionally, they'd cut tree trunks to beat at the doors and walls– it didn't matter if part of the castle fell, so long as they got in. They could easily rebuild if need be.

None of the things they planned had to happen. Not eager to try and withstand another siege and seeing that they were beaten, the men within the castle opened the doors for them. From their ranks rose a cheer as they moved through the gates, the Stormlands men bending the knee to Daenerys as she passed, the dragons swooping low to startle them.

From Storm's End, letters were sent out to the Storm Lords, then to the rest of the realm to declare themselves– Daenerys's claim was written clearly by Viserys. In the tower where the ravens were held, they found the resident maester had kept a tally of recent news, some the sort of things that Oberyn and the children had learned at Dragonstone.

First, King Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell were sure to marry. Varys had informed them at Dragonstone that Littlefinger was going to try to smuggle Sansa out of the capital, which put Oberyn towards prepare their ships for a continued blockade too-tight for Baelish to simply slip through. Varys knew that the Tyrells hoped to marry Ser Loras to Sansa, but warned that the Lannisters would not want it to happen anymore than Littlefinger would.

He said that the Lannisters and Littlefingers were more buddy-buddy now than before, though Littlefinger could still not be trusted by them. A betrothal had been made for Littlefinger with the widowed Lysa Arryn, which assured them that Littlefinger would likely try to smuggle Sansa around Crackclaw Point to Gulltown.

The blockade was in place, and Varys was going to try to find out when, exactly, this was happening, to ensure they estimated Littlefinger's departure as best as they could to rescue Sansa and keep her safe while Robb's choices played out. At any rate, they would then hold the key to the North and could use her influence to solidify the alliance they should've already secured with the North and the Riverlands.

What Brynhildr wasn't sure about was whether they should kill Littlefinger upon capture or keep him hostage. If they kidnapped him or killed him, the same result could arrive– Lysa would send her currently dormant Knights of the Vale upon them if she figured out they'd done it. Alternatively, if they let Littlefinger go or brokered an early deal with Lysa, he could cross them and even so set the Knights of the Vale on them.

She was glad it wasn't a choice that had to be made immediately– at present, Sansa was still in the capital and nothing indicated when Littlefinger would leave. The capital was busy planning the Red Wedding, and as a letter at Storm's End informed them, Robb's mistakes were steadily catching up to him.

At Riverrun, he'd killed Lord Karstark and his men for having murdered two young Lannister prisoners that Robb had been carting around for ages. Brynhildr wondered if the outcome would have been different if they sent a raven or envoy to Robb before he met his Queen, Talisa Maegyr. What if they'd learned her name sooner and Brynhildr could make special note that she and the earliest Valkyries had served as a guard to her family's house in Volantis? Perhaps an alliance would have been assured, or they could have at least guided Robb down a better path sooner.

Robb had plans to try and take Casterly Rock even now that the Karstarks had abandoned him. With the men of their army and the survivors in the Stormlands joined together, they probably could have helped him. But Oberyn didn't think it a good idea; they needed to focus on holding Dragonstone and Storm's End and even so trying to rescue an innocent Sansa. Unfortunately for Robb, it left him to try and treat with the Freys for help.

Brynhildr had sent him another raven at Riverrun insisting he return to the North. Fortify Moat Cailin and hold his kingdom instead of rushing off to Casterly Rock. If they took the Rock, they'd trap themselves there and Tywin would find a way to retaliate. Robb had no fleet to protect himself from the Lannisters or the Ironborn, either, and with the Tyrell alliance, the Redwyne fleet was a raven's call away. Brynhildr surely wasn't going to risk her ships on a 'maybe.' Humiliating Tywin could either go very well for them or very badly.

"My father used to say that we should worry less about the gods about more about the fury of a patient man," said Brynhildr, wrapped in a silk robe and staring out the window of her new chambers while Oberyn and Daario arrived for their celebration. "Tywin and Littlefinger... two seemingly patient men we should not cross. Tywin could starve them out, if he wanted to. He's already chosen to betrothe Sansa to Tyrion Lannister and Cersei to Ser Loras only to keep the Tyrells humbled. It would be unwise for us to fill the vacancies in Robb's army."

"The Young Wolf was rash," said Oberyn. "A green boy, at heart. He may soon fall. Stannis had been praying hard on his downfall and our Queen said to me on Dragonstone that she'd had a dream. She saw a feast of corpses, savagely slaughtered, with overturned chairs and hacked trestle tables. Severed hands clutching bloody cups, wooden spoons... there even sat a dead man with the head of a wolf."

Daario shivered. "That's enough to give anyone a nightmare. I don't know how she does it with those things in her head. She wished to ask Melisandre for advice but we reminded her the Red Priestess is allowed to see certain things, same as her. She cannot predict the future anymore than Dany can and if the vision isn't important to the Lord of Light, she'll be of no help interpreting it. At present, Dany simply thinks it's about Robb."

Brynhildr huffed, "She may not be wrong." She glanced over her shoulder. "Let us not talk of the death of would-be Kings. I want to worship the two of you now, my kings."

"Kings?" Daario wiggled his eyebrows. "I like the sound of that." He came to stand in front of her, letting her be the one to remove his clothes while Oberyn did it to himself, smirking and saying, "King Consorts, perhaps. Without her children, the Iron Throne would take only one person on it, and it would be her."

Brynhildr made a face, Daario leaning down to kiss her neck. "The way you've drawn it, it looks incrediblyuncomfortable. Besides, I feel Aegon the Conqueror lied a bit. There have to be more than a thousand swords if it's really so tall."

"Didn't take you for someone who cared so much about size," murmured Daario into her flesh, slipping off her robe and beginning to rub his hands over her.

"She doesn't," said Oberyn smugly. "She learned her lesson long ago– size does not matter when you are flat on your back."

It gave her a glimpse into what his plans were. While she'd been eager to please the both of them– and they'd allowed it, to an extent– so, too, had they wanted to worship her for being what linked them together, what guided the Targaryens here in the first place. Brynhildr was laid on the bed, the two of them taking turns to stimulate her. Lips, fingers, and tongues ran over the most sensitive parts of her body, maddeningly slow at some points and unbearably quick at others.

It seemed almost like torture, making her beg when they were claiming to worship her. Yet, that was their version of doing so– giving her every last bit of pleasure, even if it became more than she could handle.

The last time she'd been at Storm's End, she'd not thought to find herself a person to warm her bed. She'd been coming from the North, her bed there occupied by Roose Bolton each night. Stannis might've been a candidate if he was less serious, for Brynhildr had held no interest in Robert Baratheon. A good thing, too, for however boring Stannis was, Robert had seemed downright unbearable.

She couldn't entirely believe they were here now. Her hands grasped desperately at stone walls, face pressed into the window as Daario bent her over and fucked her hard into the glass. She cried out but the sound of wind and echoes of every other noise in the castle muffled her like nothing before; a welcome relief for those who were often housed beside her chambers and had been, for years, listening in on her days with her lovers. Some of her Valkyries, she thought, found pleasure in listening, for no one had ever teased or complained... if anything, they looked at her with further desire.

Oberyn hadn't thought the closed window enough, and had opened it to let in fresh air that gave her goosebumps and ran over her body like hands while he lifted her against the wall and bucked his hips over and over again. She never minded how her back scraped against the stone. She clawed at it all the same, once she'd found it was too difficult to rake her hands down Brynhildr's spine.

Even so they weren't done with her. The clever bastards kept at their pleasure-torture all over the room, as if to bless it. She was laid on the bed, the floor, the armchair, the couch, the wall, the windowsill, even in the air. Were they spiders, she was sure they'd have taken her on the roof.

"I've a good feeling about this," said Daario breathlessly, kissing her forehead as she shivered beneath the sheets, eyes shut tight– she couldn't focus her vision no matter how hard she tried, her entire body tingling and seeming to float rather than rest on the bed. "A babe in our midst."

"I am growing older," said Brynhildr. "Near thirty-nine."

"Visenya had Maegor at forty-one. It could work. I think our seed will take, after so many years."

"Perhaps it should not," said Oberyn. "We are truly involved in the war now. Battles will continue to follow. If she were to suffer another loss on the battlefield..."

Brynhildr managed to open her eyes. "Lagertha was carrying a child when they went to Frankia, I believe. It grew and grew, the Ancient One having said she'd never bear another. She fought anyway, she dragged ships through the mountains. And she lost it before their final battle there. It did not stop her. It is all up to the gods, who have not allowed me to grow a child in near seven years."

Oberyn smiled sadly. "Our sweet Elia, Helga, and Ragnar."

"And our dear Sigurd and Hvitserk," said Daario. He took her hand and kissed it. "Yet, I don't know why I feel a sliver of hope. The dragons should not have been born, yet they were. Aegon should not be alive, but he is. We shouldn't have managed to take Dragonstone or Storm's End, but we did. Your mother may have prophesied that the Vikings would never touch these lands, but the babe within you would not be fully Viking. In a sense, it does not contradict her."

She reached up to cup his face. "Would that we could. Perhaps it is not yet time but it may come, as you say. The gods may not give me leave until my youngest now sits her throne. Even so, I worry... that they will call me back to them when my work is done."

Oberyn sat up, frowning. "Why do you say this? Do you foresee your own death?"

"No, I simply wonder. I was brought here for a reason, even Melisandre has confirmed this. What if that is my purpose alone, and when it is completed, all ends?"

"No." He took her hand and kissed it hard. "No, we will not allow it. You will reach Valhalla in battle, surely, but not so soon. I say you will live many years more to watch your daughter rise to the throne, marry, have children of her own– make you a proud grandmother to more dragons. If we have a child, my love, we have a child. If we do not, that is alright. But I will not let your gods or mine take you away from us so soon after our victory. I mean to grow old and grey at your side, for you make me feel as young as the day we met."

Daario nodded in agreement. "Valhalla will await you when you are old, for only then will you have the most stories to tell your father, mother, and brothers when you see them again. You will tell them of the Valkyries, of our conquest, and even so of how the perfect girl you raised will be as Queen. You will see her rule and you will see her prepare your grandchildren to take the crown after her. You'll die only when you can tell King Ragnar firmly that you secured a dynasty that carries his memory even in a land so far away. Daenerys and her children will know teachings of the Vikings and they will live on in memory."

She smiled as they both kissed her cheeks, burying her in an embrace. It made her feel somewhat better, though her worries did not dissipate. The pit in her stomach would not go away. Yet, she did find herself wondering if these worries were about something else. Something big was coming, she knew it. Something that would test her, for why else worry that she wouldn't be here to help her sweet Dany? Why else did she feel her gods might keep her only for what she was worth?

Daenerys had tried that week to mount Fafnir, who was large enough for someone her size. After a near half-hour of adjusting the saddle and modifying how they ought to have her secure herself to it, they'd finally gathered on the grass outside of Storm's End and flanked a sort of runway for the dragon, who stubbornly refused to fly with so many eyes on him. Daenerys had had to sing to him in front of everyone before he finally surged forward and took flight, fairly low and barely sweeping above the battlements, yet high enough for Daenerys to cheer triumphantly.

All that was left, then, was for the others to be large enough for bulkier youths like Viserys and Aegon to take mount. With this, they already secured an advantage over armies on foot. Daario had told her the story of the Field of Fire, and how House Tyrell had come to command the Reach in the first place. A bit of fire would certainly do them wonders, and Daenerys still held enough influence over the rowdy Rhaegal and shy Viserion to have them burn men alongside Fafnir even without mounts.

Their wait on Robb's fate came to a bitter end. The last they'd heard before the worst news of all, his uncle Lord Edmure Tully of Riverrun was going to marry a Frey girl to make up for Robb breaking his promise. Brynhildr had suspected something was afoot from the fist; there was no major need for the Northerners to cross through the Twins, and it made no sense to her for Lord Frey to invite Robb back into his halls after such a slight.

And so, shortly after poor Sansa was wed to Lord Tyrion, a wedding was held at the Twins. A terrible one it was, dubbed the Red Wedding. Daenerys had nearly thrown up her supper when she heard of the slaughter on the Northern men, Roose Bolton and Walder Frey both working with Lord Tywin to kill the King in the North. Catelyn Tully's corpse had been desecrated and flung naked from the battlements of the Twins in a mockery of Tully funeral customs– not at all unlike how Vikings honored their dead– and the head of Robb's direwolf, Grey Wind, had been sewn onto his body and paraded around.

More than ever, it became imperative to think about young Sansa. Varys reported from the capital that the Kingslayer had returned with one less hand– apparently lost in captivity. Tywin had rewarded the Freys and Boltons by making Walder Lord of Riverrun and Roose Warden of the North. All had turned to look at Brynhildr as the council met to discuss this new development.

She pursed her lips, staring down at their map of the Seven Kingdoms, small pawns moved around to show where all the major armies were stationed– Harrenhal was free, the surviving Northerners fully retreated. "It is truly settled, then," said Brynhildr pensively. "We rescue Lady Sansa and take the key to the North. We'll need her to rally the remaining men of the North with us to fight and take back Winterfell. The North can remain an independent kingdom only under Stark rule, and if we help Lady Sansa avenge her family and take back her home, I've no doubt we'll find a ready ally with her."

"Lord Edmure is still alive and held hostage," added Oberyn. "Word is he managed to put a child in Lady Roslin on their wedding night."

Daario gave a snort that sounded an awful lot like, "Efficient bastard." None commented on it.

"We'll focus on him later," said Brynhildr. "We cannot hope to take the Twins, not with the spread Lord Walder has in that castle. For now, we need the North and then we can focus on rallying the men of the Riverlands. Whatever the risk, we are kidnapping Petyr Baelish as well. Daenerys has told me the story of how Visenya Targaryen took the Eyrie; we could employ similar tactics to deter the Knights of the Vale if Lysa were to send them after us."

"Varys claims that Tyrion never consummated the marriage," said Oberyn. "And that in her grief, with Joffrey's wedding rapidly approaching, wife and husband have not been seen privately together. I met Tyrion when he was a babe and heard many a story since... I do not think him like the other Lannisters. The marriage will not be valid in sight of gods and men. Sansa will be available for us to betrothe her to someone and secure our alliance."

Daenerys furrowed her brows. "Who do you have in mind?"

"Aegon is closest her age aside from you," said Brynhildr, smiling apologetically at the boy, though he had matured enough by now to accept that this was only a formality, not a true promise. Many things could change and he was still willing to do his duty (though she noticed a glance he made towards Daenerys). "For now, we betrothe her to him."

Connington cleared his throat. "Commander. Would this not mean publicly declaring him as Rhaegar's son?"

"Doesn't need to be so. Many rumors circulate but we can simply say our ready and loyal allies from House Connington have given us a young boy for Sansa. She will be Queen in the North, after all. We need not pair her with someone soentirely well-known for her to be in command. Regardless of this matter, Varys is already attempting to determine the loyalty of the different Northern houses. He'll soon send us a list of who is most fiercely loyal to the Boltons as well as a list of who is most fiercely disloyal. We'll know soon what to do."

Viserys cleared his throat. "And will you go then? To the North?"

Brynhildr half-smiled. "I don't think I have a choice, my boy. I know Roose Bolton, I can use that to our advantage when we do, to either have him let some of his guard down under the lie of an alliance with him or..."

"But why are we sure that'll work?" asked Aegon. "Bolton betrayed Robb Stark for the Lannisters."

"And will easily betray the Lannisters if he stands to gain more," offered Connington, eyes narrowed pensively. "I see what the Commander intends."

"Yes," said Brynhildr. "We might pretend to broker an alliance with Bolton– perhaps even hold one for a time, at least until we have Sansa and have prepared her for rule. Whoever holds Winterfell holds the North. Additionally, we've received troublesome ravens from the Wall. The King Beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder, has assembled an army one-hundred-thousand strong and they need our help. We may need to send people North anyway."

Daenerys chewed on her lip. "Dragons. We need the dragons to go. To the Wall, to Winterfell. What chance do they all stand without magic, without fire?"

"Some," said Daario warily. "You're the only one who has ridden one, Your Grace, and Fafnir is still too small to fly all the way up the Wall and all the way down. If what this letter says is true and there are giants out there, they could just as easily snatch the two of you out of the air and rip you to pieces."

"Suggestions have been sent to the Night's Watch," Oberyn assured her. "Your mother has already written out details of how to hide traps in the snow– the same pointed logs we've used in battle to impale cavalry and anyone running quick. We've sent a ship already to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with a gift of weapons from the Valkyries, barrels of pitch found here, and any extra provisions. Some scorpion bolts were even donated to them."

"Jon Snow will be indebted to us in that case," said Daenerys. "If our plan does not work with Sansa Stark, we may need to call upon him." She drummed her fingers against the table, still thinking of the dragons. "Very well, no dragons just yet. But we will help the Night's Watch while we rescue Lady Sansa. If our odds are favorable for bringing the North against Roose Bolton, then we will have Sansa here and already a large army out on the Wall. It may thin our blockade, but it is a sacrifice we must be willing to make to aid against this threat and have our Northern allies. As far as we know, Roose Bolton still holds the Dreadfort, yes?"

"Yes," said Oberyn. "He's yet to reach that place; he's married one of Walder Frey's daughters. It will take time to move things to Winterfell. We can catch the Bolton men on the move and launch an attack, though, your mother and her Valkyries are not natives to the North, not even as far back as the Company of the Rose or Wolf Pack members. The weather may be intolerable."

Daenerys sighed, thinking. "Mance Rayder... you said that he united a hundred warring tribes. If he dies, the wildlings stop attacking. We really only need enough to take the camp. Captain-General Strickland, will two-thousand warriors on horseback be enough?"

He considered it. "It could very well be, Your Grace, if the wildlings have none of that. Horses, we can acquire with ease. Commander Lothbrok's Valkyries are as fearsome on foot as they are on horseback. If they can get close enough to kill Mance and ride back to the Wall, there's no need for dragons."

"Then that is what we do. Mother, you will lead every last one of your Valkyries and five-hundred Golden Company men in battle at the Wall. With horses in tow, you'll sail to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and ride to Castle Black to offer aid. You'll leave within a fortnight, regardless of whether we've rescued Lady Sansa or not. We'll alert you at Castle Black what becomes of Sansa if we have her by then. The assault on the Boltons will need to be swift, before they can settle into Winterfell. You've an associate in Lord Manderly, yes?"

"A very old associate," said Brynhildr. "I don't know if he'll remember me. We are assuming now that he will not support the Boltons, yet..."

"If Varys confirms within this fortnight– as I imagine he can– that the Manderlys are disloyal to the Boltons, then after the battle at the Wall is concluded, you will sail back from Eastwatch to White Harbor. The Bolton had five-thousand men assembled to fight for Robb and many were lost. You will announce your arrival to him at White Harbor and meet regarding an alliance while we here handle ravens to the most fervent Stark supporters and have them prepare surviving men to aid you at the Dreadfort and flock towards Winterfell. Whatever happens... Roose Bolton's head is taken and his line extinct, for we do not tolerate Kingslayers of his nature."

Brynhildr gave a nod. Oberyn gave her a look, "You use any means to get his guard down. I don't care what it has to be. He needs to be in your pocket."

"I think I might already have an idea," she said. "A clever way to poison them that may save us from needing a greater army. Roose wanted to take me to wife because of my bloodlust. I think blood should be what fells him, for he broke a sacred oath." She turned to Daenerys. "I will tell you, Your Grace, once I am sure it will work. It must be tested, most likely on some of our prisoners. I'll work on it this fortnight."

Daenerys assented. "Good. One last thing, Mother. I want the Lady Melisandre to go with you. She's seen images of the Wall in her dreams and I believe that if the dragons are too young to go there, she will need to bring the fire the Night's Watch men will need. Do you consent to taking her with you?"

A vacation with Melisandre was not what Brynhildr was expecting, but she did not decline. "Yes, I accept. If she proves treacherous, I'll simply toss her off the Wall."